Greed: A DI Scott Baker Novel Read online

  “It will all be in my report, but I’d say for now that the assailant chose the type of weapon carefully. The killer knew that by using this type of knife with the serrations, he could target the great vessels of the neck. Provided he applied enough force, he could drop the victim straight away with consciousness lost soon after. Death easily within the hour. This chap bled to death in a matter of moments.”

  “Dr Hall, that gives me a lot to go on. I’m going to head back to update the DCI and team, and I’ll wait for the report. Thanks for rushing this through so quickly. I owe you one.” Scott turned to walk away.

  “Inspector,” Cara called out.

  Scott stopped mid step and turned. “Yes?”

  With a look of concern on her face, Cara said, “This was no ordinary knife attack. The knife and victim were chosen for a reason.”

  Her parting comment sent a chill though Scott’s body. His mouth went dry. This was premeditated.

  Chapter 5

  It was late afternoon before Scott got to back to the station in John Street. At this time of year, the sun was still low in the sky, its heat modest; the nights drew in early and the temperature dropped quickly.

  Scott rubbed his hands together and then blew air into them to warm them up. It’s going to be a chilly one again tonight, he thought as he looked up towards the darkened clear sky.

  He nodded at the desk sergeant as made his way into the building. Brighton police station was an imposing five-storey building neatly tucked away in an elevated position just behind Victoria Gardens and the University’s Grand Parade campus.

  CID were located on the first floor, but space was at a premium with a desk hopping policy in place. Since the budget cuts had drastically slimmed down the team, all officers now had their own workstations. However, this would be short lived. Once the multi-million pound refurbishment program had been completed, hot-desking would be a formal requirement.

  The team briefing had been scheduled by the DCI. Scott would have been happy to start earlier, but the DCI had obviously stipulated the time that suited her and when she was back from her jolly.

  It was scheduled for 6 p.m., which gave Scott ten minutes to grab a coffee from the vending machine. What came out didn’t necessarily look like and often didn’t taste like coffee. He once pressed the button for white coffee, no sugar, and the machine, seeming to sense that it was time to wind Scott up, dispensed hot chocolate.

  Gingerly holding the Styrofoam cup in one hand whilst carrying a folder, notebook and mobile phone in his other hand, Scott walked in to the briefing room on the top floor of the station, where the team was already gathering.

  Moments later, Detective Chief Inspector Jane Harvey entered causing the conversation between Mike and Raj to trickle down to nothing more than background murmurs.

  DCI Harvey was Scott’s superior, and the contrast between them couldn’t have been more different.

  Scott stood at six feet, with short, dark brown hair, finger combed to look fashionably unkempt. He had an athletic build from all his years of cycling, gruelling gym sessions and his most recent fitness craze of TRX sessions. A lover of style and fashion, he took pride in his appearance choosing the most fashionable labels; his favourite suits all by Paul Smith, finished off with Church’s brogues. His dress sense and handsome good looks had certainly been the focus of many discussions amongst female colleagues at the station.

  The DCI, on the other hand, always looked as if she’d dressed blindly in the dark with her floral tops and Aztec print cardigans. She stood out with a halo of plump grey curls, her five foot short stature, wide girth and crazy stare. She was often described by station colleagues as cantankerous, argumentative and obstinate. She was what they called an old-school copper; at fifty-five, she had stayed on long past the thirty years’ service she’d signed up for.

  DCI Harvey was far more interested in results than paperwork, bureaucracy and performance target, which brought her into direct conflict with her superiors and the ethos of modern-day policing.There were rumours that she’d outstayed her usefulness, and that senior management wanted her replaced with a dynamic yes person.

  Everyone knew she was partial to a drink or three. More often than not she flouted the no smoking policy by having a cheeky fag in her office, propped up besides the window that seemed to be open all year round. For those walking past her office, it must have looked as if she’d lost the plot completely as she’d walk around her office waving a folder newspaper in front of her to disperse the smell.

  Despite her eccentricities, she was a coppers’ copper. She never hesitated to support and stand by her officers, a quality greatly appreciated by all members of the team.

  DCI Harvey took her seat at the back of the room, a favourite place for her to observe her whole team without being a distraction.

  Scott looked up to see Abby walk in to join Mike, Raj and Sian, who were already seated or perched on the table.

  Scott took his place at the front of the room besides the whiteboard. He placed a picture of Edward Stone on it.

  “Ok team, as you are now all aware, we had a fatality this morning. Mike, can you tell us what you know?”

  “Ok, Guv. The victim is Edward Stone, aged thirty-four. He’s the owner of two nightclubs, the Phoenix in Preston Street and Urban on the seafront. He’s known to us and had convictions for assault and fraud. The assault was when he was twenty-seven on another clubber; the fraud was a stolen cheque book scam. He lives, or should I say, lived in Forth Avenue, Hove with his fiancée, Vicky Bright.”

  “Ok, thanks Mike.

  The PM was conducted this afternoon, and we’ll get the full report shortly. What I want to bring to your attention is the method used. The assailant used a combat knife probably with a large blade around six to eight inches long. It’s not a standard weapon of choice when it comes to stabbings.”

  There were visible signs of both concern and curiosity amongst those gathered. Causal glances were exchanged between them.

  Abby, raising her eyebrows at what she’d just heard, interjected. “The FLO Andrea Smith and I will be taking Vicky Bright to see the body tomorrow. She’s requested to see him.”

  “Any idea as to why a survival knife was used? I mean they’re big enough buggers to kill a large bloody animal,” asked Raj, using his hands to emphasize the length of the blade.

  “That’s the concern here, Raj. The path said that this type of knife was chosen for a reason, to cause maximum damage and as she put it, to drop the victim.”

  “So it was planned, Guv?” asked Sian, the newest member of the team having joined six months earlier.

  “Too complicated to be a random attack. It wasn’t robbery as nothing appears to have been taken,” replied Scott. “Having seen the results, the killer must have wanted to inflict that type of damage. The wound took out the carotid artery and trachea. The victim not only bled to death, but was deprived of oxygen.”

  “There’s another unusual aspect to the killing. The victim had three twenty pound notes stuffed in his mouth. I don’t know the meaning to this, so I’m open to suggestions.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t like hiding his cash under the mattress,” quipped Mike, the suggestion met with low-level laughter and groans. The DCI at the back taking in this exchange raised her eyebrows.

  “Highly unlikely, but thanks for that intelligent guess, Mike,” fired back Scott, his response again met with a round of laughter and ribbing.

  “We need to start by focussing on Stone’s background first thing tomorrow. I know Sunday is a rest day off for a few of us, but time is of the essence, so we need to get a move on pretty sharpish.

  Abby and I will visit his clubs, Mike I want you to organise a search of his apartment, take Raj with you. We need to look for paperwork, mobile phones, laptops and anything else that maybe of interest. Ma’am can we get a few uniforms to help out tomorrow?” Scott asked.

  DCI Harvey nodded. “Leave it with me, Scott.”

  “
Sian.”

  Sian looked up from hastily making her notes.

  “Yes, Guv.”

  “I want you to head down and do some door-to-door work, see what other traders knew about Stone, see if they saw anything unusual during the last twenty-four hours, check with control and see if we’ve got any CCTV footage.”

  “Anything you’d like to add, Ma’am?” Scott asked looking to the back of the room.

  DCI Harvey sat quietly, arms crossed, looking expressionless. “Nope, nothing further to add. I just need you to hold back a few moments after the briefing so we can talk to press liaison and agree on a suitable press release.”

  “Ok, team; let’s get to work on this first thing tomorrow, get home and get some rest, it’s going to be a busy day,” Scott said wearily, rubbing his eyes and blowing out through his teeth. Now the chase begins.

  Chapter 6

  Sleep eluded Scott that night. He tossed and turned, occasionally drifting off just to jerk awake a short time later. Each time he drifted off that dark memory crept up on him again.

  He was running…running helplessly across the road. He didn’t want to go back and see the aftermath, but he had to. He just knew fear and utter confusion would engulf him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a dark, swirling mass scudding across the ground straight in his direction. He screamed and tried to run faster but the ground under his feet seemed to slow him down. With each step, his feet became heavier as he fought to drag himself free.

  The dark cloud grew closer, shadows churning around him. The blackness threatening to swallow him, consume him. He was lost in the opaque abyss, an icy chill wrapping around his body. All that could be seen of him was one pale arm reaching out, reaching desperately for someone, anyone, to grab him and pull him out of this quagmire of darkness. His quivering voice cried out in fear. His fingertips threatened to disappear into the murk of obscurity.

  Moments before completely vanishing into the vortex, Scott jolted awake, his breath in ragged gasps. Tears were crawling down his cheeks, his pillow damp, the bedding a jumbled heap by his feet.

  He lay there for a few minutes trying to calm down. He hated those nightmares, not only did they kill his sleep, but they kept dragging him to a place that he was consciously trying to bury. Desperate to shake off this melancholy mood, he climbed out of the bed and peered out through his blinds.

  The night sky was fading into a predawn lightness. He couldn’t stop thinking about the memory. He’d had it before and it always left him feeling drained and achingly lonely. He missed Tina and Becky, the light and love from his life extinguished in a blink of the eye, and he was powerless to do anything about it. He only wished that he’d joined them.

  When he’d chased away those troubling thoughts, his mind turned to another disturbing subject: the callous murder of Eddy Stone.

  Scott needed to get out and clear his head, it was just approaching 6 a.m. and the light was just breaking over Hove. He threw on a pair of joggers and hoodie and headed out for a quick walk to grab some fresh morning air and shake off his dark mood.

  ***

  Within ten minutes he was out on the Kingsway, where he could cross over, cut through the Hove and Kingsway Bowls and Social Club lawns and small green roofed beach huts that skirted the pebble beach.

  Standing on the beach in the crispness of the cold spring morning, Scott closed his eyes and took lungful’s of fresh sea air.

  There was something magical and soothing about sea air and its ability to instantly calm and centre Scott. This fresh natural force seemed to course through every muscle, vein and cell of his being, ridding him of the sickening dull feeling that resided in the pit of his stomach and the middle of his heart.

  Scott opened his eyes at the sound of seagulls singing out their distinctive chatter. At that moment, with the chorus of seagulls overhead and the waves gently pouring onto the pebbles, Scott could not think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

  This was Scott’s own little piece of paradise, his way of escaping reality and the parts of life most people never saw. When he was on the beach, nothing mattered, nothing crossed his mind, and it offered him the space that his mind and body needed to balance out life and life’s experiences.

  ***

  It was just after 9 a.m. when Scott arrived outside the Phoenix Nightclub in Preston Street.

  Less than twenty-four hours ago the street had been the scene of a horrific murder, and for the best part of the day, the street had been sealed off whilst scientific forensic officers bagged and catalogued every scrap of evidence they’d discovered. The area had been photographed in meticulous detail. Any relevant signs or points of interest like bloodstains were marked, numbered and photographed.

  With the advent of body cams a few years ago, and more recently, police issue mobile phones with face time capability, officers on the ground could instantly relay a crime scene back to officers at the station for assessment and input. Scott found these photographs and videos were often invaluable in piecing together an event so that his officers who were not able to attend the scene could get an understanding for how it looked.

  The scene had been a calm but busy hub yesterday as the area was marked out and searched in a linear pattern with an orderly line of officers inching forwards to ensure nothing was overlooked.

  Now the street was open for business once again, the blood had been washed away by council workers, traders were going about their business, and curious members of the public were still turning up in the hope of seeing some remnants of the aftermath.

  Today’s news is tomorrows chip paper, Scott reminded himself.

  Both nightclubs had been kept under police guard since yesterday’s events to stop anyone from going in and potentially tampering with evidence, or disturbing clues to the deceased’s last few hours. As Scott approached the Phoenix, he was met by a uniformed officer who acknowledged his arrival.

  “Morning Constable, anything to report?” Scott asked.

  “No sir. Nothing more than curious onlookers asking a few questions,” replied the officer. PC Oju was an imposing figure, almost as tall as Scott, but a lot more slender, with dark afro-Caribbean features that offset his bright smile.

  As Scott waited for Abby to arrive, his phone sprang into life heralding the arrival of an email as it vibrated against his chest. Scott reached in to grab it from his inside jacket pocket, and then proceeded to duplicate the elaborate security swipe pattern he’d created to unlock the phone.

  “For fuck’s sake,” on the third attempt, he finally unlocked the phone and made a mental note of finding an easier way to lock it.

  The email was from Matt Allan.

  Hi Scott, I’ve got my team still pouring over the evidence collected. However, we’ve found good fingerprints on the blood-stained twenty pound notes and these will be analysed and cross referenced later today. We’ve also sent the victim’s mobile phone on to the high tech unit for analysis. All results will be with you in the next 24-48 hours. Speak soon, Matt.

  Scott felt encouraged by the news, but nevertheless cautious. He knew that the identification of prints could lead to nothing, but there was always hope of an early breakthrough either with a match, or from the phone records.

  As he looked down the street to the seafront, he saw Abby finishing off her discussion with Sian, before leaving her to carry out further door-to-door enquiries with local residents and traders.

  ***

  Scott and Abby were greeted by the smell of stale beer and mustiness from the lack of ventilation and natural light. The club itself was well proportioned, even though it led Abby to comment that her living room floor had more space than the dance floor area she stood on.

  “What happened to the days of a nightclub actually looking like a proper club, with a big dance floor?” Abby said with amusement.

  The club looked more like an informal first-class lounge in an airport; it was wide but not very deep. To the left was a bar with the usual spread of alcoholic bott
les on the back shelves of a mirrored wall, with the bar itself an all glass and mirror affair. It was decorated in gaudy purple and blue neon lights that no doubt emanated that ghastly neon glow from every inch of it.

  In the middle was a small black marble dance floor, and that was a being generous, which no doubt saw very little action judging by how shiny and clean it looked.

  To the right and taking up at least two thirds of the nightclub, were eight sets of purple sofas set around small white, round tables. Each table and sofa had embedded lights in them which gave out a soft, white glow.

  As Scott looked around, there was nothing to suggest that the events of the night would end the way they did. Everything appeared to be where it should have been, nothing was broken or damaged and there was clearly no evidence of an altercation within the club that could have then been settled outside.

  “I know, can you imagine the electricity bill?” Scott replied with a laugh and a dismissive shake of his head.

  Scott recalled his university days, heading off to the Escape and Gloucester nightclubs where he spent the best part of a night bumping into other revellers, a problem that became worse as the night wore on. A combination of no air conditioning, overcrowding, cheap drinks and condensation dripping off the ceilings all added to the underground feel. The good old days, he thought as he smiled.

  “You’d hardly see a club like this, never in my day, eh?”

  “Nor mine,” agreed Abby.

  Stone’s office was towards the back of the club and carried on the tacky high class feel the club attempted to portray. It had plush, navy carpets, ornate tall plants, a bank of monitors allowing the owner to survey his domain, and a dark mahogany desk and leather chair which took centre stage in the room.

  Scott and Abby wandered off in different directions as they started to look through his desk drawers and the various assortment of paperwork left behind.